Blurred
by binkii822
Summary: Fantasy blurs into reality for Booth one snowy night


A/N: So I tried to write a thinky fic…then I tried to write another…then I mushed them together into this, which is not thinky at all…oh well! Thanks to mrspollifax the beta and the cheerleading…it needed so much verb tense help!

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Booth awoke, disoriented. Slowly, reality seeped back into his sleep-fogged brain. They'd ended up at Bones's place last night, exhausted, yet elated. They'd closed a difficult case and then struggled for hours to get back to D.C. through the snow and ice. The power had been out when they'd finally arrived safely at her place, and it would have been silly for him to have tried to go back across the city to his apartment. So he'd stayed. They'd drunk wine and talked late into the night, finally falling asleep on the nest of blankets they had made in front of the fireplace.

Now, the fire had died down; the room was swathed in darkness, just the barest gleam of light shining through. The air around his face was crisp and cold, but beneath their covers it was almost uncomfortably warm. Brennan was snuggled against him, back against his chest, legs tangled together. He leaned up on his elbow, gazing down at her sleeping face, barely perceivable in the darkness. She looked so fragile in sleep, her face covered in the shadows and light created by the dying embers.

He wondered when exactly things had changed for him, when she had become his obsession. At first it was just memories of the day he would take out at night, replaying them in his head. Her passion as they worked, her need to seek out and find the truth; the grace and beauty of her hands, they way they slid and moved across the bones she studied. The crinkle in her forehead, the concentration etched on her face, as if the remains she examined were precious. When did he begin to wonder what it would be like if she concentrated on him that way?

Longing coiled in his belly, fueled by her sleeping body pressed against his, mixed with the complex emotions he felt for her. Booth brought his arm upward, ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, remembering their earlier conversation. She was a strong, strong woman. Hiding deep beneath her strength was that abandoned girl, still certain she couldn't truly count on anyone; not sure she was worth loving.

He thought about the conversations they shared at the end of a case, talking, rehashing, and trying to figure out what motivated the killer; mourning the loss of innocence, the death of the victim. From these he gleaned what made her tick, how her need for the rational explanation and her tendency to cling to the intellectual were just her way of masking the pain in her past. Those times, when one of them felt particularly vulnerable, a connection sprang up between them; a spark of something more. When did those moments become the fodder of his fantasies?

Booth dragged the backs of his fingers across her chin, turning his hand to cup her face. Her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked, confused for a minute. As she turned slightly to face Booth, Brennan opened her mouth as if to say something, but Booth rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip, silencing her. Their gazes locked, and Booth felt a strong bolt of desire, flowing from where he touched her lip, running though him, tightening in his gut and his groin.

Almost as long as he has known her, Booth had been replaying those quiet moments between them; imagining that_ this_ was the time he crossed the line. When her lips accidentally brushed his hand instead of her coffee cup and a shock of awareness ran through him, he wondered what would have happened if he turned and pulled her into his arms instead of cracking a joke. He had imagined turning his head the first time she brushed her lips across his cheek. Letting their lips slide together, pulling her closer so she could feel the arousal that so easily sprang to life when she was close to him.

Now those fantasies were blending with reality. He had never, ever planned to act on those desires, no matter how badly he wanted to. As Booth fought for the self-control to move away, he felt her tongue snake out, running over the tip of his finger. Need shot though him, and that quickly, he lost the battle to resist her. Ever so slowly, he found himself moving his hand and leaning down brushing his lips against hers softly, once, twice, before pulling back and gauging her repose. Her eyes, half closed, echoed the yearning which gnawed at him. He felt her hands course up his back to his head; Booth shivered as Brennan pulled his lips back down to hers. This time, the kiss wasn't gentle; lips pulled at each other, teasing again and again, before tongues finally began to tangle.

Yes, _this _one, his body screamed at him. He'd imagined this so many times, that instead of explaining the difference between bad sex and making love, he had taken her home and shown her what it was like when two people became one. Pictured laying her down on his bed, undressing her slowly, kissing her first leisurely and lazily, then with increasing passion. He had been fantasizing about it for so long, he couldn't even remember a time when those thoughts hadn't been there, percolating in the back of his brain.

He thought he'd known exactly what it would be like to have her pinned beneath him, her softness pressing against him, but he had been wrong. It was so much more than he had imagined; the saltiness of her skin as he licked his way down her neck, the weight of her breasts as he cupped them in his hands, and the feel of her nipples pebbling as she arched up against him, rubbing against his erection. Brennan pushed at him, flipping around until suddenly she was atop him, laughing, pulling off her shirt. He felt himself grin in response as he reached up to pull her back down and kiss her. Laughter; how natural this felt. He hadn't pictured that either.

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When he awoke again later, the soft haze of morning dimmed by the falling snow shone through the blinds; his face and the one foot that had escaped the covers stung from the cold, but the rest of him felt warm where he pressed against her. He scooted away a little, leaning up once again to watch her sleep. The memories of last night flowed over him, renewing his arousal. Blizzards were officially his new favorite thing ever.

Despite his desire, Booth was reluctant to wake her, content just to watch her sleep. He had no idea what would happen when she woke up, half afraid she'd scurry as quickly as possible behind that mask she presented to the world. But he knew he'd do whatever it took to keep her with him. He no longer knew how to do anything else.


End file.
